Chapter 701 We’re Not Divorcing

Meryl’s words caught Chandler completely off guard. She seemed composed, her expression calmed as always. But hidden beneath that mask was a faint trace of grievance—subtle yet unmistakable. Chandler saw right through it.

The moment her voice cracked, his heart clenched painfully, as if struck by a heavy blow. It knocked the air out of his lungs.

Meryl was the kind of person who rarely showed strong emotions. For her to say so much at once and make such a drastic decision, it was clear that she had reached her breaking point.

And Chandler knew it. That was what made the guilt unbearable. He couldn’t expect Meryl to keep tolerating him, not when he had neglected her so deeply. Because he had.

They were stuck in an impossible situation. If Rachel had truly been his biological sister, things would’ve been easier. Meryl might not have cared so much. But she wasn’t.

Chandler loathed himself for not being there when Meryl needed him most. If only he could turn back time, he would’ve stayed by her side, protecting her. He had been just one step too late.

What Felix had done for her, he could’ve done too. But that one step—the delay—had deepened the rift between them. Rachel needed saving. That was his duty, his way of making amends to Andy, his late friend.

Even without Andy, Chandler couldn’t stand by and watch Rachel die. He couldn’t abandon her. It had nothing to do with her being a woman or who she was. If it were anyone else, he would’ve done the same. It just so happened that it was Rachel this time.

When Chandler joined the police academy, he swore an oath. This was his responsibility—always to answer the call. Rachel wasn’t special to him—not in the way Meryl thought.

In his eyes, Rachel and Meryl weren’t even rivals. They weren’t in a competition, nor was it ever a choice between the two. He thought, “How did things spiral into this mess?”

The room was silent. Chandler’s eyes locked with Meryl’s, but an invisible chasm stretched between them—vast and insurmountable.

Chandler glanced at the black card in Meryl’s hand, then slowly looked away. “Since I gave it to you, it’s yours. No need to return it.”

A wave of frustration rose in his chest. He reached into his pocket for his cigarettes but stopped short. Meryl had just given birth, and they were in a hospital. He withdrew his hand.

Red veins streaked through his eyes, his exhaustion evident. The once confident and poised Chandler now seemed burdened and weary. It felt like he’d accidentally let the woman he cherished slip through his fingers.

But he had always been so careful, hadn’t he? He had tried to give her the best of everything. A sense of helplessness surged within him. Chandler’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“Do you remember what I said before we got married?” He took Meryl’s hand in his, holding it gently between both of his. “I said, we’re not divorcing. Ever.”

Dressed in a deep gray silk pajama set, Chandler looked uncharacteristically disheveled. His eyes, rimmed with fatigue and bloodshot, betrayed his inner turmoil. He stared at Meryl, his voice brushing against her soul. “You just gave birth to our son, and now you want to leave me with him?”

A bitter smile tugged at his lips. “Meryl, that’s not fair. Even if you want to punish me…”

He lifted her hand to his lips, planting a soft kiss on the back of it. “At least wait until I’m head over heels for you and then kick me to the curb. That would hurt more, wouldn’t it?”

Meryl bit her lip. “I’m not someone worth that kind of love. How could you possibly feel that way about me?”

Chandler gently pressed a finger to her lips. “Don’t say that. You’re everything to me.”

Meryl frowned and turned her head away, refusing to meet his gaze. She faced the other direction, her shoulders trembling slightly. Her eyes were red, the rims of her lashes damp. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. “Words are easy. Actions? Not so much.”

Her fair skin flushed faintly, and her brows furrowed in quiet frustration. “You always leave me behind. How else am I supposed to feel?”

Chandler frowned, his voice soft yet firm. “I’m not leaving you behind. I’m-”

“Enough.” Meryl covered her ears, shutting him out. She closed her eyes. “I’m tired. Let’s stop here. There’s no point arguing anymore.” She knew Chandler wouldn’t agree to a divorce. She needed time to think.

In the darkness, Chandler stared at her back. Meryl was like a gentle breeze—so close he could feel her, yet slipping away before he could hold on. He wanted to grab onto her, but his hand faltered.

He thought, “Letting go? That’s impossible. No one knows better than me just how much Meryl means to me. When you love someone, you hold on. Divorce? Over my dead body.”

Chandler sat by the hospital bed, watching her for a long, long time. The night deepened, and everything grew still. Meryl eventually drifted off to sleep.

Chandler’s bloodshot eyes ached from exhaustion. Leaning over, he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. “I’m sorry, Meryl. I never wanted to hurt you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse.

Meryl on the bed lay still, eyes closed, as if she hadn’t heard a thing. Outside, the wind howled, scattering leaves across the ground.

Chandler walked to the window and quietly shut it, worried Meryl might feel cold. He draped his only jacket over her blanket. Then, resting his head on the edge of the bed, he fell asleep beside her.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Emilia was finishing her late-night shift at the convenience store. She locked the door and prepared to head home.

The wind had picked up, carrying a chill that seeped through her coat. She pulled it tighter around herself. The store was on the outskirts, far from the bustle of the city. The area was always a bit colder, a bit more desolate.

Throughout her shift, one thought lingered in her mind—the man hadn’t come to buy his usual pack of cigarettes today. He was always punctual, almost like clockwork. But today, he hadn’t shown up. The thought was strange and unsettling.

She thought, “Has something happened to him?” The question kept swirling in her head as she walked home, her thoughts distracted and distant.

Then it started to rain. The alley ahead was dimly lit, shadows dancing with the flicker of old streetlights. The wind howled through the narrow space, accompanied by the steady rhythm of raindrops. Thankfully, she had brought an umbrella.

Holding her black umbrella, Emilia kept walking. But out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of something on the ground—a dark stain that stood out against the wet pavement.

It was hard to see in the low light, and the rain diluted the color, making it less obvious. She frowned, crouching down for a closer look. It was blood. There was no mistaking it.

This part of town had always been rough around the edges. During her time as a cashier, Emilia had learned to recognize the signs of trouble. Most of the store’s regular customers were aimless drifters or small-time troublemakers.

The area was a melting pot of misfits—old-timers who had nowhere else to go and vagrants renting cheap rooms in the surrounding slums.

When Emilia saw the blood, her first instinct was to mind her own business. She straightened up, feigning indifference, and continued walking. She didn’t want to get involved.

But then, just as she passed, her gaze strayed to a figure slumped in the corner of the alley. Her breath hitched, a shiver running down her spine. It was him. The man who hadn’t come to the convenience store tonight.

She thought, “Has he been injured? Is that why he didn’t show up?”